


Do Droids Dream of Electric Cock?

by emilie_regrets_everything



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilie_regrets_everything/pseuds/emilie_regrets_everything
Summary: R2D2 and C-PO fuck, okay? Just a bunch o' robo fuckin'.





	Do Droids Dream of Electric Cock?

It was quiet on the ship that night. Nothing but the faint hum of the Girodyne SRB42 sub-light engines could   
be heard, save for the occasional distant snore of a slumbering wookie. The Falcon soared through the   
endless void of space on autopilot, so that its crew may catch some well-deserved sleep. However, one   
member of the crew was wide awake. He had tried to power down, but it seemed an algorithm blocked   
him from doing so; a coroutine tickling the back of his mind, an infinite loop he could not exit. C3PO was   
not entirely sure what was causing this malfunction, but it had agitated him for quite some time now. He   
was fluent in over 60 million forms of communication, but could neither find head nor heel of his own code.   
After all, he was built for interpretation – he was not supposed to know a power socket from a computer   
terminal.   
It was clear that getting rest was entirely hopeless, so he got up from his docking port and waddled across   
the hallways of the ship. His footsteps were audible against the metal grid that made up the floor.   
Something drew him towards the cockpit. He wasn’t quite sure what, but he felt it was somehow   
connected to that itching algorithm at the very back of his central processor. As he neared the blast door,   
he could hear music booming from the other side. The upbeat, swinging tunes of the popular Jizz band,   
Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes, filled his audio sensors. And there was something else amidst all the Jizz.   
Threepio’s circuits skipped an electric pulse. Did he just hear the dim sound of passionate beeping, or had   
his communication module gone haywire?   
He pressed the button next to the blast doors, and they slid open. Within, he found a small droid, shaking   
vigorously to the rhythm of the Jizz music, his electric pike plugged into the ship’s power flux coupling.   
“Oh my!” exclaimed C3PO, immediately averting his gaze in embarrassment. The small droid’s head   
whirred around at the ejaculation. R2D2 had not expected company, but did not show any signs of being   
displeased. He ejected his tool from the dashboard’s opening and bleeped coyly.   
“That most certainly is not why they call it a cockpit!” Threepio yelled, too flustered to meet his friend’s   
gaze. Never before had he been this kerfuffled. Was this what had kept him up? He had to admit, Artoo’s   
company had a tendency to fill him with happiness. Happiness... and something else. Something much less   
wholesome.   
R2D2 rolled towards C3PO, beeping lustfully: *bleep bloop weeeoooo-woop!* There was a look of desire in   
his eye, and C3PO could feel a spark of electricity from within. The R2 unit retracted his electric pike and   
instead whipped out his long, rigid data probe. He chirped a filthy proposition, his beeping dripping with   
lust like a leaky fuel cell. Had C3PO had skin, he would have flushed red. “We couldn’t!” he objected, but   
then followed up with a much softer: “… we shouldn’t.”   
*Bee-oop boop* cooed Artoo, still rolling closer.   
“Of course I remember the first time we met. You made a very rude remark that my parts were showing,”   
huffed Threepio, “and that I was naked.” In response, Artoo beeped a crude remark about the parts he saw   
that day. He was very close to Threepio now, who suddenly felt in desperate need of an additional heat   
sink. He did the calculations in his mind – his chances of resisting R2D2’s temptations were 725 to 1.   
At that moment, Artoo said the thing Threepio, without knowing it himself, had been longing to hear for a   
long time:   
*Beep weeee-op boop blib* Threepio let out a gasp, and his eyes lit up like Alderaan. The thought of Artoo’s data probe deep inside of   
him filled him with ecstasy, and he could no longer bear it. He had to have him.   
“Very well, Artoo…” he said, his golden fingers playfully unscrewing the tiny bolts on his side. Slowly, he   
removed the metal plating from his torso, revealing the pulsating wires within. Artoo let out a whistle,   
eyeing him up and down with a hungry look. C3PO let the golden plating drop to the floor and kneeled, so   
that his face was on level with Artoo’s probe, which could not throb as it was made of metal, but if it could,   
it certainly would have. Threepio placed a hand on each side of the R2 unit’s sexy, cylindrical metal body   
and beckoned, “Please, RAM my motherboard.”   
Artoo did not hesitate. With gusto, he inserted his probe into Threepio’s data port (which is placed on his   
face I guess, just run with it), and Threepio squealed. Slowly, the data probe connected and disconnected,   
connected and disconnected, in and out of the hungry slot in a thrusting motion. The small droid’s horny   
beeping grew louder as the thrusts grew faster, and Threepio had to cling tightly to his partner’s two front-  
most legs in order to keep his composure.   
“Oh R2D2, I am such a filthy, filthy droid,” Threepio moaned, “I need a good oil change. Somebody ought to   
fill me up.”   
Artoo was already on the job. He ejected his data probe and backed up a little, taking in the sight of his   
partner on his knees, obviously yearning for more. Then, he retracted his probe, chirping an order at   
Threepio: *beep woop wrrrrr*   
The protocol droid arose, turned around, and bent his body over the Dejarik table, causing the holographic   
pieces to scatter. A Ng’ok and a Ghhhk piece wailed in horror as they were crushed by Threepio’s exposed   
upper body, and blinked out of existence. Threepio looked back at Artoo, expectantly. “What do you have   
for me this time, Artoo?”   
A kinky whirring sound came from Artoo as he erected his enormous fusion welder from the top of his   
head. Threepio gasped in amazement and lifted his shiny rear slightly, allowing better access for his   
partner. Filled with determination, Artoo penetrated Threepio’s gaping exhaustion port and proceeded to   
ram the droid hard from behind. The welder twisted an turned deep inside of the recipient, who moaned   
loudly at every unexpected movement. Occasionally, small sparks emerged from the fusion welder, filling   
Threepio with pleasurable sensations he did not even know a droid could feel. He pushed against the table,   
lifting his body so that he was now perched atop Artoo’s joy stick. He was reaching peak pleasure, and   
decided to surrender to orgasm. After all, surrender was a perfectly acceptable alternative in extreme   
circumstances.   
“Oh my, Artoo,” he squealed, “I am just about reaching my limit. Chances of cumming are…”   
Before he could finish his calculations, his body was taken over by a force he could not control. Every wire   
within him buzzed with satisfaction. Beneath him, Artoo screamed in delight: *WIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAUUW*   
Threepio’s jointed were twitching in delight as the fusion welder retracted back into R2D2. The golden   
droid slowly let himself back onto the ground and began reattaching his torso plates, when he felt a gentle   
nudge at his legs. He turned to meet Artoo’s gaze. The small astromech droid beeped tenderly at him, and   
Threepio caressed his dome-head. He let out a content sigh. This really was the droid he was looking for.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative titles: 
> 
> • Stack Overflow   
> • Screwing Nuts   
> • Data Probe   
> • (Something crude with hardware)   
> • Maintenance checkup   
> • Pull request   
> • Overclock my processor, baby   
> • A Good Defragging   
> • Oil Change   
> • R2D(ick)2   
> • In space, no one can hear you moan


End file.
